Runner 5
by cherryblossomcanopy
Summary: AU. Zombie apocalypse, team fic. Rated for strong language


Ok, so I know the last thing I should be doing is starting up a new project when I haven't even gotten halfway through my other series. But I just couldn't help myself. This story wrote itself. And the good news is that with this out of my system I have new inspiration for the next part of Deliverance. The bad news is that I've spent the last two days writing this and now have 4 major assignments due over the next two weeks that I _haven't started! _I think I'm doing uni wrong. Surpirised they haven;t just kicked me out yet.

Anyway, I don't know if I'll continue this. I would like to, but it may not be straight away. I'd like to make Deliverance a priority. But we'll see, if you guys like it I'm sure I could be encouraged . Maybe everyone will hate it...

So, this is AU. And technically this should probably be in the Crossover section, because it's a crossover with an app. Yes, you heard me, an iphone app. Called Zombies Run. It is the coolest thing since sliced bread. Basically it's an exercise app that is also a game, where you run and get chased by zombies and go on missions and all cool things like that. I highly recommend it. I go running almost every day now.

In the app, you play this runner 5 person. So I was running the other day and in between creppy zombie chases I was thinking about my other fic and this idea just started forming in my head. Jane's not in it. But if I continue, he will make an appearance.

Some of the zombie stuff is also inspired by The Passage (Justin Cronin) and World War Z (Max Brooks). Two excellent books I recommend if you like the zombie genre.

So I don't own any zombies, or any of the characters from ZR or Mentalist, or Hannah Montana. And I suck at tenses, really, so I hope it's not too confusing for you.

* * *

_Never going to make it..._

The forest is only getting thicker. I don't even see the drop until I'm on top of it, no choice but to jump from the rocky ledge, about three feet from a ditch below. A burst of pain rips through my shoulder on landing and I'm sprawled on the ground, again... unable to breathe. Hurting everywhere. Somewhere in the back of my brain the idea registers that I'm probably in shock by now.

I would cry if I could get enough air into my lungs.

_I could just stay here. Right here. Probably better for everyone. Probably should just swallow that last bullet in the chamber._

I barely lift my head from the ground. Reach for the gun. My hands are shaking so hard it takes me four tries to extract it from the makeshift holster.

I used to hate guns. Never even touched one until the outbreak. But then mum died, mowed down by tank fire with my baby brother in her arms. Killed by our own fucking army that we thought were coming to save us. After that we fled north, away from the army checkpoints and into a deadly winter. And when dad got bit, suddenly picking up my grandfather's old hunting rifle and blowing my father's brains out was the only way to keep my brothers alive. Score one for survival instinct.

Apparently I have good aim. Not that it's easy to miss when the target is an arm's reach away, in the driver's seat of a rusted out Chevie Travera. But after that, even though James had to help me reload most of the time, I was still the best shot of the three of us. I could hit the head almost every time.

Right now I can't even get the safety off.

I heave myself up until I'm half sitting, propped up on my good elbow. I wrestle with one hand until I click off the safety. My face feels numb. I can smell my own blood.

I have this awful thought that I might miss. It's not only my hands, my whole body is shaking now. I've seen it happen – seen a man shoot himself in the mouth and miss the brainstem. Blew half his skull off, but he was still laying there, twitching, very much alive, by the time they got to him.

If I don't get up I'm dead anyway.

But there was something important, s_omething about a woman_... that I needed to tell Sam. _Wasn't there? _

A woman with red hair...whose name didn't matter.

_Was that who shot me?_

I can't even remember who fucking shot me.

It is truly dusk now. The gates will be locked. Will they even let me back in, if I can make it? I must be hours late. They would have only waited so long. There is no way to contact Sam – the headset is fried. I still have it round my neck though. Even broken comms equipment is invaluable these days.

_They'll probably shoot me on sight, even if I do make it. I don't look good._

I've been still for too long. They have to be close.

And I don't want to die. I really don't. Not out here.

_Get up get up get up!_

That bone chilling sound again. God I hate that sound. It's not just the moaning, but the snapping of broken teeth, the scraping of bone and wet flesh. It's so much worse than the smell or sight of them. It's enough to finally get me lurching to my feet.

I'm so dizzy I fall straight back down again.

_COME ON Lisbon, don't be a GIRL!_

But God it hurts, and I'm so tired...

One shot left...

* * *

"I don't need the map, sir"_._ She knew the way to New Canton.

'Sherrif' Minelli adjusted his hat. Previously a small time farmer who had had the foresight to turn his and the surrounding properties into a veritable fortress shortly after the outbreak, he was self appointed and wore the cowboy regalia to prove it. She knew he must have seen some rough times in the beginning; though his outfit at times looked like that of a child playing at war, he had the hardened air of a survivor.

As a 'sheriff' he was well liked by the residents of Abel Township. While he enjoyed the title and being privy to all the goings-on, he was not power mad and knew when to defer to a more skilled member of the community.

Right now he was clearly deferring to the woman beside him. Janine, another property owner, was in charge of the electrical station that kept their vital facilities, particularly the hospital wing and communications tower, supplied with power. Lisbon suspected she was in charge of a lot more goings on at Abel, but it was none of her business. She was only a runner.

"On the contrary, Five. This shows the locations of their outposts and the range of their scopes. If there is anyone left alive in that hellhole, they are not to glimpse hide nor tail of you, understand? You make the drop, and leave."

She took the map, as Janine finally spoke up.

"Give her a gun too, Virgil."

Lisbon was surprised. Runners never carried guns. But the sheriff seemed unfazed, nodding slightly to Janine and then retrieving a pistol from the locker in the corner of the office. Then it was in her hand. She held it awkwardly, not knowing where to put it.

Minelli noticed the hesitation. "You know how to use a gun, don't you 5?"

"Uh, yeah. Course. Just, I usually need my hands free..."

"Oh, right... let's see here..." he fiddled around his desk. A few minutes later she had on Janine's belt, gun strapped to her hip with electrical tape, adhesive side double layered so it didn't stick. Map folded in her pocket. Headset and radio charged.

Runners wore light weight clothing and carried nothing, usually. The weight of the gun felt strange.

Janine, as though reading her thoughts, said quietly "You're heading pretty far out today, runner 5. We don't expect you'll run into trouble, but you never know. We haven't been able to contact New Canton and we can't be sure what's happened over there. The fact that we haven't been inundated by zombies suggests that they might be holed up still, and trigger happy. Keep your eyes open"

She always did.

"Well, take care out there Five. See you soon."

The run had been easy enough, taking her about an hour. She had skirted around to the east before approaching the settlement. More like a small city. New Canton supposedly boasted a population of 1200. Abel barely had 400 people within its walls. Lisbon had heard talk, which was now confirmed, that New Canton had ceased radio contact two weeks ago. The relations between Abel and New Canton had never been warm, but they had kept up a civil exchange of information, and occasionally traded supplies. For the most part they kept out of each other's way, and while there were still enough resources to scavenge from the local countryside to sustain themselves it was a workable arrangement.

Relations were even starting to look up, Lisbon had thought recently, when she had noticed Runner 9 frequently running assignments in that direction. A quiet Asian man, about her own age, she had spoken to him once or twice. Cho, she thought his name was.

But then he'd stopped running missions out that way. And the word was New Canton had gone silent. No radio, no lights at night. Most likely they'd been overrun. Someone probably got bit, didn't tell anyone. That sort of thing used to happen a lot. Not so much recently; rules were pretty strict. At least here in Abel, you were checked for any wounds when you entered the gates. And there were still a few dogs trained to sniff out the virus, not that they did house to house patrols anymore. Not many people went outside the gates, unless they were Runners.

She would have guessed she was being sent out to check if that was what had happened. Instead she was delivering a letter. Her instructions were to locate a burned out barn on the south side of the city walls. There wasn't much left standing, just half of a wall and a stone well, long since dried up. The bucket was cracked and useless, and lay on its side in the dirt. There was little cover, but she was still a half mile out and the map showed no lookout stations on this particular side. The high wall was considered protection enough, apparently.

The headset crackled softly in her ear. She was well out of range for home transmissions; these little radios weren't all that powerful. But the white noise was oddly comforting, though she was careful to keep the volume low so she could hear any approaching undead.

She approached the well and, as instructed, slid the envelope into a crack between the stones. What was inside she had no idea. It was not her job to know.

It was just her job to run.

She turned to head back and was stopped short by the sight of a girl at the edge of the clearing.

* * *

_GET UP, Reese, come ON!_

It's my brother's voice I hear echoing in my head. My brother's voice from a different time, so long ago.

_He sounds terrified..._

I open my eyes to see two pairs of dead ones shining out of the darkness.

I don't think. I pull the trigger.

My last shot finds home in the skull of zombie number one.

Number two is undeterred.

I _have_ to move.

Sam likes to tell new recruit runners that anyone who can move faster than a slow shamble can outrun a zombie. It's true to a point. But when they're coming at you, in packs of a half dozen or more, it's a different story. When they are a relentless wave, even over bad terrain, it's a different story.

Sam knows full well that a broken ankle is a death sentence to any runner. But he likes to be encouraging.

I am barely moving above shamble speed, but it's enough for now.

* * *

"We need more time" the girl had said.

She hadn't understood. It wasn't her job.

'Tell them we need more time. The situation has changed.' The red haired girl was anxious, urgent. She wasn't really a girl, more like early twenties. But her face looked much younger.

'Ok. I'll tell them. Who are you?'

'Doesn't matter. What matters is that you're ready. We'll contact you, when the time comes. You can't come back here.'

The girl, whose name didn't matter, was ushering her back to the trees. Actually grasping her hand. It felt strange to be holding anyone's hand.

Her fingernails left crescent moons in the skin of her wrist.

They were at the edge of the trees now. "Ready for what?"

"They know something. I'm sure of it. That's why they've locked us down." She must be talking about New Canton, Lisbon reasoned, though it was confusing to follow.

"You mean you weren't overrun?"

"No, but that's what they want you to think. You need to go, now!'

"Ok" But she hesitated a moment. Something about this woman made her not want to leave her alone. She wasn't armed, nor was she dressed in field appropriate clothing. Her brilliant blue dress hugged her torso and brushed the ground. Hardly suited to outrunning zombies, should there be any nearby. "Will you be alright...?"

"I'll be fine, I know a way under the wall. It's not far. Listen can you do one more thing, for me. Do you know Wayne Rigbsy?"

Lisbon frowned, vaguely remembering a Wayne, part of the guard who manned the wall each night.

"I think so."

"Can you just tell him... tell him I'm still -"

She never did hear the rest of the girl's sentence, as she was thrown backwards by the force of the bullet lodging in her left shoulder.

* * *

She remembered hitting the ground hard, rolling down a steep embankment. Remembered the impact of her headset on a rock, the crackle of static going dead. She had heard the red haired woman, whose name didn't matter, cry out, and then a man's voice, angry.

She had felt incredible pain blooming, radiating outwards, making it hard to breathe. The ground felt like it was spinning beneath her.

She didn't even think to move until a second bullet found home in a tree trunk, mere feet away from her. Then the adrenaline had kicked in.

* * *

Abel Township Communications Tower. 7:23pm

Sam Yao stared at the screens in front of him. Eight cameras positioned at intervals along the wall gave him something resembling a view of the surrounding countryside. Decent visibility during daylight, pretty average at night. If something larger than a dog was moving around within maybe a half mile radius, he could occasionally spot it. But that's why they had Spotters on the wall. A patrol of 6 each night, to keep watch and man the gun stations if necessary. Most nights there wasn't much action, a dozen zombies in the vicinity perhaps, but the spotters would only shoot them if they approached the wall. Can't afford any wasted ammo these days. They were even starting to build new weapons for the wall, crossbows in particular, the idea being that spent arrows could be collected by a runner and reused. Can't very well dig out a bullet from the skull of a zombie and reuse it.

Though he was technically off duty, he couldn't leave. He was missing a runner. He hated missing a runner.

A missing runner was most likely dead. In the three years Sam had been working comms at Abel, he'd lost nine runners. Six of those had simply never returned from missions, their bodies being found later - dead or undead. The remaining three he had had the grisly honour of watching die. On close range runs he often was able to tap into cameras that were still operating in the surrounding area. The old hospital, for example, he could still pull live footage from a few of the cameras. This allowed him to warn runners in advance of any nearby mobs. It also meant that he had a front row seat when things went badly, and he was completely powerless to help.

Sam had never had the chance to be a father, but he imagined that it was similar to watching one's own children die.

Or, rather, be eaten alive.

He had a sick, twisting feeling in his gut that runner 5 would be the tenth lost runner on his record.

Not that he would be held at fault. Being a runner was about the most hazardous career choice available these days. Everyone knew that. No one would blame him.

It made him feel like dirt. At least taking the blame for something would be an action. Would be _something_ different to the passivity of sitting in this dark little room, watching the world go to hell on a 17" monitor.

Abel had 14 runners currently in service, all of them assigned with a code number. Sometimes a runner was given a new number, but usually they would take the place of an old runner who was no longer fit for duty, or dead. Runners were known thereafter by their number, all but renouncing their given names. But they did have names. And Sam didn't need to check his personnel log to know each runner's name, even if he never used it in conversation.

Runner 5's name was Teresa Lisbon. She was 26 years old, and had been at Abel for close on two years. Sam even remembered the day she had arrived, with one of the last groups of walkers that they had taken in. A motley bunch if he'd ever seen one, perhaps a dozen of them. All looking exhausted, starved, at the edge of their sanity.

As with all the other walkers, they'd been welcomed into the community. Provided no one was infected of course. Sam had heard of other places where entry was more ...selective. Where you had to prove your worth or be cast out. It was barbaric, but Sam wasn't naive. Since the outbreak, desperate times had bought out both the very best and the very worst in people. He was just grateful that here at Abel Township there was still some semblance of humanity. Some notion of what was right and what was wrong. Perhaps one day things would change, but for now...

Not that it was a free ride. Everyone at Abel was expected to pull their weight. Depending on individual skill a person could work in the hospital, man the wall, manufacture products, farm and cook, look after the children, be a runner... with half a degree in communications engineering he'd wound up here, monitoring transmissions and coordinating runners in the field.

And now, hours after his shift ended, he sat staring at the darkening landscape on the monitors in front of him. Watching for any sign of the life or death of runner 5. He knew it was pretty hopeless, no one had ever returned after dark before. There had been no answer to any of his communications. But he would wait anyway, and watch, because that is his burden.

* * *

It's amazing what the human body is capable of when fuelled by adrenaline.

She made it about a mile before she collapsed the first time. Literally ran herself out of breath and passed out cold, face down in the grass.

Minutes later she woke to the sound of scraping bone, and a nightmarish groaning, unmistakeably undead. A half rotted ghoul was steadily lurching towards her, barefoot and reeking, one mangled ankle twisted almost upside down, bones protruding sharply and scraping the ground with every step. Instinct took over and she twisted to reach her gun, firing up at the zombie now only metres away. She caught him in the jaw and his head rocked back with enough force to snap the spine at the neck.

It wasn't enough. The felled zombie now struggled to right itself, snapping viciously with what teeth it had left, head now at a ninety degree angle to its body.

A second bullet destroyed the brain, and the creature was still.

Teresa staggered back up and forced herself into an agonising jog. The sound of the gunfire would draw more of them. The smell of her blood would allow them to follow.

She was going to have to do something about the bleeding.

There was an old farmhouse nearby. She'd been there before. It had long been cleaned out of anything of use – weapons, food, medicines... but it was shelter, and she was getting weaker by the minute.

When she got there the place was a mess. Front door ripped off its hinges and glass from the windows littered the floor. She kept her gun in front of her as she lurched through the doorway. It was a small one storey place, and she quickly ascertained it was deserted.

Knowing the cabinets would be empty, she went straight for the bedroom, looking for a bed sheet or scarf or something she could use to wrap her shoulder. The bed was bare and so was the closet, but some threadbare curtains still hung from the grimy window frame. They were a thin lacy fabric that was easy enough to tear into strips using her good arm and her teeth.

Now that she'd stopped moving her shoulder was throbbing relentlessly. One side of her loose fitting t-shirt was drenched in blood. She couldn't see or feel any blood on her back; the bullet must have lodged inside her body. When she tried to move her arm her head swam, so she kept it clutched to her stomach and gently slid down the wall before she could faint.

Gritting her teeth and using her good hand she managed to clumsily wrap the curtain strip around her shoulder and upper arm as tight as she could stand it. Tying it off was a bit of a problem, but she did the best she could. She couldn't feel her fingers anymore, only a slight tingling sensation when she tried to move them. That couldn't be good.

She stayed huddled under the window for a few minutes, trying to think. As far as she could tell there was only one option. She needed to get back to Abel before she succumbed to shock from the blood loss. And that would happen sooner rather than later. So she needed to get moving again. Staying out here was not an option. Even if they did send out a search, which was unlikely, it wouldn't happen until tomorrow. She would be dead by then.

She knew she looked bad. They'd see the blood and assume she'd been bitten. But if they didn't shoot her straight away... she might be able to explain. Sam wouldn't let them shoot her on sight... would he?

Regardless, she had to try. Forcing herself to her feet once more, she turned to the window and saw four zombies headed towards her, from the north side of the property. They were still a couple hundred yards away. She went back out to the kitchen and saw one more zombie almost at that window, to the east. It looked like a young girl, maybe 12 or 13. She wore a Hannah Montana t-shirt and had long, filthy red hair matted with blood. Half of her face had been torn off, exposing rotted teeth and sinew.

The front door was just next to the kitchen on the same side of the house. She went down the hall. No luck there, there were no more doors.

_Kitchen it is..._

By the time she turned back around Hannah Montana was half way through the window, moaning excitedly at the proximity of her prey. Lisbon waited for her...it... to land inside the room and straighten up before whipping up the gun and firing at point blank range. The child's brain matter was dripping from the formica countertop before the body even hit the floor.

With three more shots left, Lisbon hightailed it out the front door.

* * *

Abel Township. The Wall. 7:39pm

Runner 9 strode along the west side of the wall. He was anxious. He didn't like to be anxious. He couldn't even really figure out why.

He knew runner 5, but not that well. They saw one another occasionally, in the bunkhouse. She didn't waste time with small talk, which he respected. She was good at her job too. She was fast, and she didn't scare easy.

Cho had heard that she'd not come back from an assignment this afternoon. Over near New Canton. He'd been running there himself a lot lately, and it made him uneasy. There was clearly some kind of espionage going on, that much was obvious. Minelli and Janine constantly had him picking up and leaving letters. Like he was a goddamn postman. Cho despised secretive behaviour, and he hated being the dealer of information he was clearly not trusted with. That's why he had requested not to be sent out that way anymore. He'd been doing routine supply missions lately instead.

He didn't feel guilty, necessarily. Who knows what happened to 5, she probably just barged into a nest of the things, or turned an ankle, or just plain got lost. Shit happens.

But he was uneasy. There was something more to this business than Minelli was letting on.

He stepped to the side of the walkway to let a patrolman pass, before realising it was the person he'd come looking for, even if he hadn't really been aware of it. Wayne Rigsby greeted him warmly, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

"Hey man, what brings you up here?"

Cho shrugged. "Just needed a walk. Anything happening out there tonight?" he cocked his head towards the edge of the woods, a few hundred yards from the perimeter.

"Nah, not much going on. In any case, they're getting real uptight about how many shots we take a night. Ammo's at an all time low or something. I could be doing a Robin Hood routine pretty soon."

Cho snorted. "You'll have to get some green tights specially made."

RIgsby chuckled good naturedly. "Whatever works, right. So I heard one of you sprints is MIA?"

"You heard correct." Cho replied soberly.

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"It was the short woman, right? Dark hair."

"That's the one."

RIgsby sighed. "Well I hope it was quick. And I hope I'm not the one who has to take her down if she comes back all zombied out."

Cho didn't have an answer for that.

Rigsby could sense his friend's restlessness. "Want to hang out with me on post? I've got crackers."

"Sure", Cho smirked slightly. One thing they weren't short of at Abel was those packets of god awful crackers that no one else seemed to like eating. "You got the cheese flavour?"

"Nah, I've only got shrimp."

"Disgusting."

* * *

_Please Reese... we gotta move!_

But I can't _go _any faster. I can't... _James_...

My brother isn't here. He's dead.

_COME ON, Reese!_

So why can I _hear_ him?

I see lights in the trees.

Not _in_ the trees, behind the trees.

From the wall.

There are more behind me now. They're too close...

I can't lead them so close to the wall.

I veer left, and catch my shoulder on a low hanging branch. The scream escapes my throat before I can stop myself. I clamp my good hand over the wound and try to see past the white spots that dance in front of my eyes. I can't tell these apart from the lights.

_Keep GOING!_

* * *

The detour to the farmhouse had put her a little way off course. She didn't recognise her surroundings as she tried to make her way back to the familiar route. Which was probably why she was caught completely by surprise when a hand reached out from the undergrowth and grabbed her ankle. She fell hard and twisted in time to see a zombie pulling itself out of an overgrown drainage pipe she hadn't known was there. It still had a vice grip on her ankle and she panicked, frantically kicking out with both legs as she couldn't reach the gun without losing her balance completely. Finally a well placed kick from her right leg resulted in a sickening crack. She scrambled backwards several feet before she realised she was trailing the zombies detached forearm with her. She lost it then, and would, later, be somewhat glad that no one had been around to see her screaming like a little girl.

Finally disentangling herself she leapt to her feet and fired off two shots hysterically. She missed both times, but hit the creature in the leg shattering bone. It was enough to down the zombie and she cursed herself for the waste of bullets. Tears were streaking down her face as she watched the zombie thrash about, trying to pull itself along the ground with one arm and a shattered leg. It was a pitiful sight. One she didn't have time for. She pulled herself together. _Halfway there._

* * *

Sam was just starting to nod off when a flicker of movement caught his eye. He snapped to attention, squinting at the screen. The feed was from a camera positioned outside the wall on the North West side. He'd thought... maybe it was nothing.

He couldn't make out much more than shadowy scrub, but a few moments later there it was again. Something was moving through the trees. It looked to be too fast for a zom, but he still couldn't make it out.

He scrambled for his radio. "Quadrant 4, watch. Come in. This is Comms."

"What's up, Sam?" It sounded like Rigsby.

"I've got something on my screen. Moving fast in your direction. Can you see anything out there?"

There was a pause. "Can't see anyth... wait. You're right. I see someone. Doesn't... look like a zom, but I can't quite see."

Sam let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Could this be runner 5? The camera was too high, he could only make out a shadowy figure, definitely moving too fast to be a zombie, but not by much.

Speaking of zombies, he could now spot two of the things shuffling into frame. In pursuit? His heart banged in his chest. It had to be 5. He grabbed the radio again.

"Comms to Gate. We have a runner approaching. Stand by for cover fire and... oh, shit-"

The figure had just moved into the light. It was definitely runner 5. And she was covered in blood.

Sam raced to the wall.

* * *

Rigsby was on his feet the moment Sam's call had come in. With a pair of scratched binoculars, he could make out the figure, but it was too dark and he was too high for identification. He didn't need light to identify the zombies about 200 metre behind though. He spotted zombies on a nightly basis. He knew exactly what they looked like.

This running figure however, was clearly not a zombie. But it wasn't moving as fast as it should be. If it was runner 5, she looked like she was hurt bad. He grabbed his rifle and hoisted it up onto his shoulder, waiting for further instructions.

Sam's confirmation came a moment later. It was runner 5. He levelled his gun to aim at the zombies behind when he heard Sam hesitate, then curse. Looking back he could see why.

Runner 5 was half jogging, half staggering towards the wall, and there was a dark stain down the left side of her shirt. He felt Cho tense beside him.

The radio crackled to life once more.

"What's going on up there?" It sounded like Janine.

"Hold the gates, she looks like she's been bit!"

"Who's on the North West? Do you have a shot?"

Rigsby grimly took aim, but didn't put his finger on the trigger yet. Runner 5 was at the edge of the trees now. There were two, no three zombies not far behind.

"Hold fire, hold fire. Damnit, don't shoot yet!" it was Sam, sounding breathless. Like he was running up stairs. Which he was, because barely a minute later he was standing beside them on the wall.

"Just wait. Let's just stay calm."

Janine's voice screeched over the radio once again. "Sam, what is going on? Has runner 5 been infected?"

Sam cringed, responding "Not sure yet Janine. She doesn't look good but let's just wait and see shall we. She's one of us for heaven's sake!"

"You know the protocol, Sam" came the harsh reply.

Sam threw down the radio and grabbed hold of Rigsby's gun, pushing the muzzle down. Cho and Rigsby stared at the young man, usually so soft spoken. He gave them a frazzled look and grabbed up the radio again, pushed a button and suddenly his voice rang out from speakers mounted in the outside of the wall.

"Runner 5, stop right there."

She'd already slowed, as though sensing the hostility. Now she came to a halt obediently. Cho watched her intently. She seemed dazed, and swayed slightly under the glare of the spotlights now aimed at her position. Her face looked ghostly pale. He pushed back from the brick ledge.

Rigsby was shaking his head grimly. "Disorientation... she could be about to turn" he muttered.

"We don't know that!"

"Cho, she's been out there for hours..." he raised the gun again. Sam's voice interrupted them again, booming out over the wall.

"Runner 5, if you have been bitten, I need you to raise your right hand."

* * *

It's so bright I can't see.

I can't hear my brother's voice anymore. I can't hear anything over the roaring in my head and that booming voice, like it's coming from the wall itself. It sounds familiar, but so loud. I feel like it's saying something important, but I can only make out every few words.

I take a step forward and the ground bucks violently beneath me. I nearly lose my balance. Raise up a hand in surrender.

I can't breathe anymore. I can't _hear_ what the wall is saying.

_It's so bright._

The voice seems angry with me. It's so _loud._ It's calling my name now.

I take out the gun from my belt. Drop it to the ground. It bounces once.

The ground tips forward beneath me and everything goes black.

* * *

Cho, Sam and Rigbsy watch in stunned silence as runner 5, Teresa Lisbon, faints in front of them. She lies motionless at the edge of the trees. No one shoots. No one seems to know what to do. The three zombies, though, keep coming. They are only a few hundred feet away now.

"Did she raise her hand?" Sam wonders aloud.

"I don't know..."

Cho, suddenly, pushes himself away from the wall and runs for the stairs. "Open the gates!"

He charges down the stair case and marches right up to the kid who is operating the mechanical iron gate.

"Open it!"

The kid rushes to do so. Cho hears Rigbsy's voice carry down to him.

"What do you want me to do?"

"You can start by shooting some zombies!" he calls back up.

Rigsby comes to his sense. "Right, of course." He takes aim and fells the closest zombie just as Cho runs out the gate below, straight for the lifeless form of his colleague.

Cho hears shots ring out around him, and hopes to hell that they are taking out the zombies and not the runner that just blatantly disobeyed strict protocol. He tries not to think about that, expecially as he approaches Lisbon. Because now there is something much more important to worry about – the chance that this woman he's just charged out here to rescue might suddenly turn and attack him. He slows once he's within a few feet, and cautiously approaches. She doesn't react. A good and bad sign.

He gingerly reaches out and rolls her onto her back. There's a rag tightly wrapped around her blood soaked shoulder. Holding his breath, and cursing himself for coming out unarmed, he carefully peels back the fabric and leans closer to inspect the wound.

No teeth marks. Instead there is just a single puncture wound. Cho closes his eyes and feels an overwhelming sense of relief and warmth for this woman he barely knows. He stands and turns, looking into the blinding glare of the lights from the wall. Waving his arms, he calls out "All clear. She's not infected. We're coming in!" _Don't fucking shoot us_, he adds under his breath.

He grabs up the empty gun, shoving it down the waistband of his jeans, and carefully gathers up the limp woman in his arms. She stirs slightly as he carries her back toward the gate. He thinks he hears her say the name _James._

He doesn't know anyone by that name._  
_


End file.
